Taking Tea in Dreamland
by stratusfish
Summary: Misa-Misa wasn't always Misa-Misa. Before that, was Amane Misa, waitressing at Cupcakes and Company poised for her big break. There's nothing in the world she wants more then justice for her parents, but meeting L first changes things.
1. Chapter 1

_an idea that sprung out me rather out of the blue... a prompt-story. LxMisa, my latest obsession.

* * *

_

-

1. Red Velvet

_-_

_a meeting of buttercream_

_-_

_2 1/2 cups flour _

_1 1/2 cups sugar_

_1 teaspoon baking soda_

_1 teaspoon salt_

_1 1/2 cups vegetable oil_

_1 cup buttermilk_

_2 large eggs_

_2 tablespoons red food coloring_

_1 teaspoon white distilled vinegar_

_1 teaspoon vanilla_

"One teaspoon…" Misa repeated, tipping the small bottle of vanilla extract into the waiting spoon, before pouring it over the rest of the ingredients.

Misa Amane couldn't say she was the best baker. Quite frankly, she wasn't much of a baker at all. But she'd come to Tokyo for modeling—which, at the moment, wasn't paying any bills—that was few and far between, so for now, a job at a bakery would have to do.

"Now… one teaspoon baking soda—Ah!" Misa's eyes widened as her elbow nudged the shelf next to her, sending the remains of the buttercream from a butter cake toppling into her mixture. She immediately pulled it out, only to groan upon realizing that the contents had already seeped into the beginnings of the red velvet cake mix.

Akemi hardly trusted her in the kitchen—Akemi watched over most of the shifts, as she was the manager—and this was going to be Misa's big break…not in what she wanted, which was modeling, but a break nonetheless. And hopefully, she hadn't just ruined it.

"Oh, Misa-chan," Akemi hurriedly wiped sweat off of her brow, hands swiping it off on the store apron made of pink frills and white cloth. "Thanks for getting it started, would you mind doing the register for a couple minutes while I get this finished up?"

Misa shook her head, hastily pushing the now empty bowl of butter cream into the sink while Akemi was distracted with plucking more ingredients. "Not at all." She smiled. "Misa-chan will help!"

With that, she pushed past the double doors into the interior of the bakery. The cake shop was located right in the heart of towering steel buildings, mostly offices filled with intense, weary-eyed businessmen who didn't look entirely happy. But the store never failed to be crowded beyond belief, with high school kids from across town or To-oh students from the University four blocks down. Misa enjoyed the busy work, and most importantly this allowed her to brush up on her people skills. She'd never met anyone who didn't enjoy talking to her, but if she wanted to be a model, she'd have to get used to lots of people knowing who she was.

But, perhaps this was because she was so pleasing to the eye.

The store front was a typical restaurant, frothed with pink and white and smooth silver tables and chairs, lined in silvery embellishment, and patterned perfectly with the frilly apron all the employees—who, admittedly, were all girls—wore by standard.

"Hi, welcome to Cupcakes and Company, how may I help you?" The blonde chirped, much to the satisfaction of the blushing teen in front of her.

More time went on as the counter under her filled with assorted sweets slowly drained away, filling by the hour when Akemi or Miki-chan would bustle out of the kitchen with frayed, haggard looks to shove more inside. The store was swathed with an unusual amount of people, and Misa too wasn't particularly enthralled with the mass amount of work to be done.

By closing time, the sky was seared russet red as the sun watered the stratosphere, and the store was now almost empty.

Misa sighed and rested her head on her hands, which were propped on the countertop by her elbows. Her seven hour shift was coming to an end, and all she could think of was what tomorrow's hell would be like.

She liked the sweet shop, of course. It paid well, and wearing delicate, poised outfits and a sylph-like posture was welcomed, and Misa surely enjoyed being crowned amongst perfect, slathered icing and crisp edges of artistic chocolate. She felt not unlike a dancer, stealing in on mincing feet—weightless on stage, profiled against an indistinct background and locked into a perfect portrait.

But this wasn't what she had dreamed for herself.

And maybe, modeling wasn't either.

When her parents were still alive, she and her sister would dream up all sorts of things. Rolling tin foil to make feathery wings, building boxes for imaginary castles, wooden planks as airplanes.

Misa sighed, and, pulled her lemon peel hair out of her eyes.

Her parents. And the murderer that had ruined everything.

Misa never hated anyone else more.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Immediately, she sprang back with a startled, wide eyed look, before settling back into a creasing smile and bright-eyes.

"Oh, I'm very sorry. Welcome to Cupcakes and Company I'm Misa, what would you like?"

"Ah, dear me…" The old man chuckled, and tilted his spectacles as he pulled out a crumpled paper from his pocket. He certainly didn't look Japanese, but Misa supposed she really didn't either.

The blonde caught sight of strange, mangled handwriting replicating chicken scratch, words written in—English?

"Let's see, five red velvet cupcakes, twenty four assorted macaroons in , uh, vanilla, chocolate, and raspberry—so eight each—two butter cream pastries, a Boston cream pie, twelve black and white chocolate cookies, a four-tiered strawberry and chocolate checkerboard cake, a fresh pear pie, and two pounds of German chocolate, please."

Misa blinked.

The elderly man looked at her questioningly, but altogether remorseful, as if he was quite used to frail, delicate young girls at bakery shops losing their countenance completely, like it was a typical occurrence in the stretch of things.

"Could you repeat that," She began slowly. "And perhaps, a bit slower?"

"Yes of course." He smiled candidly.

The old man didn't get out of there until an hour later, and not without a large saddle of wrapped sweets. He had insisted that he didn't need such ornate wrappings, but Misa insisted with equal fervor that it was store policy, and that who ever he was giving it to would certainly appreciate it.

"Well, I'm not sure about that…" Was all the man had to say about her insisting, and she imagined that the customer in question was a man of musings.

And off he went, with boxes towering greater than he, but not without a friendly wave to the young woman behind the counter.

"Long day, huh?" Akemi had her hair pinned up with a colossal amount of bright hello kitty clips, and looked quite hysterical with her apron lopsided and her hair flopping over.

Misa nodded. "But I like seeing everyone so happy." She replied airily. Such large intakes of sugar seemed to do that to most of their customers.

She probably would have said more, if her phone hadn't begun to ring.

"Eh?" The rising star tilted her head, before a beaming smile erupted on her face. "Oh! Akemi-chan! I've got a job tomorrow!"

"Course you do." Akemi snorted as she popped a leftover bouchon into her mouth. "We open bright and early—

"No, no." Misa cut in aspiringly. "I mean, a modeling job! Fruit Gloss wants me to be on their ad! Isn't that great?"

Akemi, ever the pessimist, hadn't ever thought much of Misa's on and off side career as a model. It certainly hadn't done much as of late, anyhow. "Wonderful." She answered, but was more interesting in peeling off the tin wrapping of her small, bite-sized brownie.

"I'm excited." The young girl blushed as she imagined herself on the cover of a magazine, with a dreamy, bronze haired boyfriend and the world at her fingers.

Maybe it wasn't too far off.

.

_Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Line 2 (12-cup) muffin pans with cupcake papers._

_._

_In a medium mixing bowl, sift together the flour, sugar, baking soda, salt, and cocoa powder. In a large bowl gently beat together the oil, buttermilk, eggs, food coloring, vinegar, and vanilla with a handheld electric mixer. Add the sifted dry ingredients to the wet and mix until smooth and thoroughly combined._

_Divide the batter evenly among the cupcake tins about 2/3 filled. Bake in oven for about 20 to 22 minutes, turning the pans once, half way through. Test the cupcakes with a toothpick for doneness. Remove from oven and cool completely before frosting._

.

"Watari." L paused, a rather whimsical look on his usually impassive features, as the elder man wheeled in another cart full of confectionaries. It was well into four in the morning, and Watari wasn't sure if L was still awake due to his usual insomnia or the time difference of here and New York. The two had come to Japan after L had solved four cases at once on the Eastern side of the United States, and the genius sleuth had already solved the case he had come for, and was simply biding his time for another month or two while he looked around for another case he was interested in.

But, for the moment, Japan was providing pleasing cases—not fascinating ones, nor entirely exciting ones, but pleasing nonetheless.

"Yes, L?" Quilish Whammy paused in lifting the top for the four-tiered strawberry and chocolate checkerboard cake.

"This red velvet is absolutely delicious." And with that, the entire thing was gone, lost in a stomach full of sugar, sugar, and more sugar. "May I inquire which bakery you purchased such delectable confectionaries from?"

"Why, it was Cupcake and Company." The caretaker replied, an amused smile lighting his face. The greatest detective in the world—showing such an inordinate fascination in desserts. Who'd have known?

"Ah." Replied the man, face lit into a sullen pallor by the computer's screen. But there was a baleful look in those gray eyes, as if the man wasn't particularly enthused with whatever he was working on. Judging from the amount of effort—or lack thereof—L was putting into his current case, Whammy supposed that it was entirely too easy for the prodigal detective, and L would no doubt soon tire of the case and solve it immediately without dawdling around longer.

The typing stopped abruptly, as L swiped a pink macaroon with his thumb and forefinger, before devouring that as well. "Could I trouble you to get some more?"

Whammy sighed.

_. for cream cheese frosting ._

_._

_1 pound cream cheese, softened_

_2 sticks butter, softened_

_1 teaspoon vanilla extract_

_4 cups sifted confectioners sugar_

.

Catch you catch you catch me catch me matte—

Amane Misa had no warning as she toppled out of her bed abruptly, suddenly aware of her ringing phone. She tumbled in a heap onto her carpet, rubbing her eyes sleepily and shifting her legs, the oversized sleeping shirt doing nothing for the draft against her smooth, trim ankles.

The phone continued to ring, until the young blonde was forced to slap her hand around the top of her dresser, moaning helplessly from the floor until she finally grabbed hold of it, and pressed the receiver into her ear.

"Hello?" She croaked acidly.

"Misa! Thank god you're awake!"

"Misa wasn't five seconds ago." The sunny haired girl scowled, attractive face contorting into an angry frown.

"Oh. Sorry. But you have to come back in! I'm sorry…it's so late—

"It's four thirty in the morning!" Misa shouted contemptuously. "Misa has a big shoot tomorrow, and she needs sleep!"

"But Misa!" Akemi interrupted in dismay. "That man—the old one who ordered a ton and tipped us really well—remember him? He came back, apparently whomever he was ordering for really liked the cake—

"So what?!"

"—and wants more, _right _now, so we have to go back in and get the shop running!"

"Why would we do that?!" Misa crossly interrupted.

"Because." Akemi crooned innocuously. "He's tripling the pay if we get it done now."

Ah.

Which would clearly explain why a tired, but still pretty, looking Misa trudged into the store before the sun rose, looking not unlike an angered, bitter cat. The store was already smelling like chiffon cake and the amiable old man was waiting patiently in one of the corner tables—the only one with a chair down, as the rest were propped up from closing only six hours ago.

"Hello, Misa-san!" He greeted with a pleasant smile, which Misa couldn't bring to grudge.

Instead, she brightened a bit with a sleepy grin. "Hello again, Sir. I'm afraid Misa forgot your name…"

"Oh, you did nothing of the sort." The man chuckled. "I'm afraid it completely slipped my mind to introduce myself before. You can call me Chambord, John Chambord."

"A foreigner?" Misa mumbled to herself, surprised that she had deduced this from meeting him before. She shook her head, a wry smile smoothing out the confusion on her face. "Well Chambord-san, why are you ordering so many cakes?"

If possible, the old man looked even more bemused. "Why, you see, my grandson has a bit of a sweet tooth, I should think that I've never seen him eat anything else—

"Nothing but sweets?!" Misa gaped. "He must be very fat!" She purposed, with little tact.

"Quite the contrary, actually. I suppose it's the metabolism."

Misa frowned, a bit puzzled at this. She'd never lay a hand on anything in the store, for it would no doubt go straight to the smooth contours of her thighs.

"I see…well, Chambord-san, what are you ordering today?"

"A chocolate fudge cake, devil's food cake, buttercream petite fours, tiramisu, one pound of fudge, one crème brulee, white chocolate truffles and caramel truffles, and, I believe, another order of red velvet cupcakes. This time an order of twenty."

"And he eats them all by himself?!" Misa exclaimed with a small amount of disbelief.

Whammy nodded, taking all this in stride. "Why yes, and in good time as well."

Misa felt a bit faint.

Akemi took the moment to stroll out of the kitchen, looking as if she had just woken up herself.

"Misa, would you mind wrapping these up?" She pointed to a rather puzzling amount of petite fours, and a long stretch of tiramisu and fudge.

"No problem." She answered dazedly, moving to the wrapping paper beneath the counter.

There was something completely insane about the thought of one man eating such a large, frightening amount of calories…and the worst of it, not gaining a pound of fat. Was it possible?

Surely not.

.

_In a large mixing bowl, beat the cream cheese, butter and vanilla together until smooth. Add the sugar and on low speed, beat until incorporated. Increase the speed to high and mix until very light and fluffy._

.

L paused in his methodical plowing of evidence, to chew thoughtfully. It was airy yet, and light, just as delicate before. But no… perhaps it was the way the icing glided over the roof of his mouth and stuck to it too much, or maybe the almost dry quality to the four. Why did it taste different?

"Watari," L began speaking almost before he pressed the intercom button.

"Yes?"

"I have a question, and please, be truthful."

"Of course." Came the answer.

"Were these cupcakes from Cupcakes and Company?" The most renowned detective in the world asked with a surprisingly urgent tone.

"…why yes L. They were."

"They taste different." Said the man, almost remorsefully. "They're not as good as before." He gave a small, depressing look to the other nineteen cupcakes. Useless. What a waste…

"I'm very sorry, L." Watari's garbled, computerized voice still held a touch of regret, or maybe it was amusement at L's subsequent depression over a slight change in taste. "I'm not sure what to say. Maybe the recipe changed? Would you like me to go ask?"

"No, no." L sighed. While he loved to indulge himself with sweets, going so far as to inconvenience Watari to such a degree was near implausible. He certainly had wasted enough time mulling over the differences from this cupcake and its prior successors then he should. "That's quite alright."

Across the line, Watari frowned—was that…a pout? L wasn't one for showing distinct emotions, but he was certainly that the tone in his voice—or what Watari could make of it from its distortment—was quite like a petulant child.

Did L really think so highly of that cupcake?

.

_Garnish with chopped pecans and a fresh raspberry or strawberry._

_._

The days were getting longer and longer, Misa sighed, as she stretched over the counter.

There was a break between customers, and such an event was so few and far between that Misa didn't bother to go out and take a break and perhaps get a bit of shopping at the mall, for no doubt in mere minutes another tumble of customers would sprout up before she even walked down the block, and Akemi would be calling her back to serve. The place was so dreadfully understaffed…they certainly needed more than four people working at the store at any given time.

She was seated over by the windows, slurping down a low-fat blend of strawberries and pomegranate, wondering if maybe this indulgence would cost her a half pound or two…maybe she could go for a run after this?

Misa had been born thin, but the models who really got somewhere—well, for one thing, they usually had a good foot on Misa, and for another, were usually dreadfully bone-like in appearance—were thinner. And she had looked awesome in her shoot for Fruit Gloss, as she had appraised it herself that morning in OK! Girl magazine, and she didn't want to lose the break she'd gotten by gaining a pound or two.

As she mulled over the confusing situation, a shadow had poised behind her.

"Miss Misa-san!"

The young blonde peered from under her bangs, getting up abruptly when she noticed it was Chambord-san again. He looked as British as usual, she noted as she smoothed her hands on her pleated black skirt. Today, she had on her typical gothic fashion, wearing striped neon pink and green stockings under black boots that matched her skirt.

"Chambord-san!" She greeted pleasantly, tapping the seat across from her. "How are you today?"

"I'm lovely. And you, Misa-san?" He inquired charmingly as he sat himself.

"Misa is wonderful." She replied without missing a beat. "Is Chambord-san looking for another large order of desserts?"

The man gave a chuckle as he shook his head. "Oh no, actually, I have a question for you, Misa-san."

"Eh?" The girl cocked her head, perfect, sun colored hair brushing her incarnadine cheeks. "What is it?"

"I couldn't help but notice that two days ago you had red dye on our fingers, which, I'd assume from your menu, could only have come from a red velvet cake, which you must have made earlier that morning, correct?"

Misa was quite shocked at the man's rather insightful, and frighteningly astute deduction. "Why…yes, Chambord-san is correct. But Misa doesn't see why…"

"And yesterday, I noticed that the dye was not present on your fingertips. So can I safely deduce that two days ago you made the stock of red velvet cakes, but not yesterday?"

Misa rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. "Yeah, that's right. But, Chambord-san I don't usually make the cakes…I'm just a waitress—

"But you did, two days ago."

"I did." Misa nodded.

"Now, my question, what was it that you did different that day that no one else in this store does?"

"E—eh?!" Misa blinked in confusion, a blush rising to her cheeks. "Misa didn't do anything wrong! Misa promises! Oh no…was it bad? Did I mess up? Oh no…Oh!" The blonde clearly remembered accidentally dumping the buttercream into the red velvet, a crime she was guilty for.

"It wasn't bad at all, Misa-san!" The man chided quickly. "In fact, my charge insisted that it was the best he had ever tasted. When he had ordered more…you could say he was dismayed that the taste he had loved was gone. That's why I was wondering if perhaps you could replicate whatever you did that day?"

"But it was a mistake!" Misa interrupted hurriedly. "Misa accidently pushed the buttercream into her batter…she's not sure how to do that again."

If possible, the man seemed to droop a little, and made Misa immediately regret saying that.

"Ah, I see." He stood then. "Well, I'm very sorry that I've wasted your time. I suppose this would be your only break for the day and I've probably taken up most of it…"

"Misa will do it!" She stood too, looking quite fire-eyed in determination. "Misa isn't sure how…but she'll try!"

The man blinked, taken aback. "Why thank you Misa-san! That's very kind of you."

The young girl pumped her fist. "It's no problem, Chambord-san! Misa is very happy that someone likes her cake more than anyone else's." And, with a shy smile. "It makes Misa feel special."

And with that, she ducked behind the man and into the kitchen.

Later, when Whammy arrived back to headquarters with a dozen, perfect, utterly irresistible Misa-made cupcakes, much to L's pleasure, he had an even wider smile on his face.

"Watari is amused." L managed to inspect from across the room with his back turned. Whammy wouldn't be surprised if the man had noted this by the shifting of his weight, or something inane like that.

"Yes, I believe you've made a young lady quite happy, L."

Obviously, the genius had not been expecting this, for he turned with curious, wide eyes. "I did?"

"Yes." The man chuckled as he made his way to the kitchen, to find a cake stand to place the cupcakes on. "You did."

The man blinked, askew, dusty hair tousled and fluffed atop his head, looking entirely surprised.

* * *

_What do you think? Is everyone in character so far?_


	2. Chapter 2

2. Tiramisu

—

_honey and clover_

—

_6 egg yolks_

_1 cup white sugar, divided_

_1 pound mascarpone cheese_

_6 egg whites, stiffly beaten_

_1/4 cup heavy cream_

_3 tablespoons kirshwasser_

_1 1/4 cups strong brewed coffee, cold_

_25 ladyfingers_

_1 tablespoon unsweetened cocoa powder_

—

Misa's quick, hurried steps echoed in her ears as she crossed the street, ground watery and murky beneath her, a shallow ocean pooling beneath her feet.

She tipped the shade of her polka dot umbrella to take a look at the lugubrious tumult of clouds above her, spinning wildly like ashen strips of watercolor. She wondered how such a good day could be so dreary. Bleakness colored the city gray, bright thatches of color in the corner of sky eyes from traffic lights. The crowd thinned with their flickering images and she hastily crossed the street before the methodical plowing and stopping of cars began its dance anew.

In the shade of the veranda, she closed her umbrella and toed out the line of dripping water, fluffing out her skirts and brushing stray mud speckles off of her striped tights. Her reflection greeted her with a pleasant smile.

When she opened the door however, she was immediately swamped by an overwhelming amount of work.

Not that Amane Misa would complain, she was quite aware that work was her stability in life.

And anyway, she had more troubling matters.

She quickly excused herself from the busy interior of the bakery to huddle quietly in the back corner of the kitchen, away from the stressed chefs and towering works of edible art. The back hadn't been used in quite a while, and as such, the nearby ingredients were placed about haphazardly and the large expansion or work place was chipped by knife wounds and smeared with residual icing.

She gathered the ingredients, pulled the old recipe book from the bookshelf (none of the other cooks needed it, mainly because they knew it like the back of their hands, and Misa clearly did not) and coughed and sputtered when it spat out a generous amount of dust into her face.

She took a quick check in the mirror to make sure the dust hadn't ruined her makeup. She had another laborious shoot that afternoon, even though she'd just came from one.

As she cracked the eggs into the bowl, she reluctantly admitted that modeling was a lot harder than she had anticipated.

Misa clearly had talent, but modeling required an unfathomable amount of patience as well as a strain on the mouth. She had spent more than an house taking off the layers of making, spending a profuse amount of time rinsing product out of her hair, and a liberal usage of skincare was daily. However, the satisfaction came every morning when her advertisements were featured in OK! Girl and Full Kiss.

Her latest had included hair extensions, a black bow atop her head, and a full blue dress with a white apron. The ensemble was finished with black heels and striped stockings, a purple cat, and a mad man with a top hat. The photographer had insisted she had the perfect pair of baby blue eyes for an Alice in Wonderland shoot. Misa had been overjoyed, seeing as though fables and fairytales were some of her favorite pastimes when she was a child.

Thinking about the days she and her sister would listen quietly with their heads tucked against their pillows and stuffed bunny rabbits, their mother whispering quietly in the dim light, soft voice fabricating the most lovely of tales. Misa always thought that the girls of the stories were always beautiful, and she wanted to be just like that. It was one of the reasons she had become a model.

Of course, she certainly hadn't thought that posing with pouted lips could require so much _effort. _

She'd find a way to endure though, and at the moment, she had more pressing matters to attend to.

On the shelf above her, she had carefully poised a replicate bowl of buttercream on one of the shelves, in perfect sight for her elbow to carelessly swipe off. For some reason, she had the feeling that such an imprecise measurement in the precise science of baking was a bit of a tangled twist of fate, and she had a stinging feeling in the back of her head that _somehow _this would lead to one thing going to another, and the whole cake would go awry.

One, two, three…

And there it went, falling lifelessly with a dull wet sound into the limp mixture. She cringed as it splattered over the front of her apron, before she pulled it out with the tips of her manicured nails.

After much debate, she decided that she'd just have to go with it, and hope for the best.

While she pulled out the electric mixer, she wondered how she could have possibly made such a delectable cake with the simplest of accidents. More so, she wondered how she had attracted the attention of a kindly old man and his sweet-addicted grandson with a marginal amount of buttercream.

The man had promised to come tomorrow to pick up the cake, and she had, in return, promised to bake him another one. Misa wondered how one could eat a startling amount of cake—or desserts, in general—and not get sick. Or fat. She would personally never eat even a bit of it in fear for the sugar going to her thighs. A bit ironic, seeing as she worked in a bakery.

She turned off the mixer and flipped the page, before spraying the pan with non-stick grease.

"Mika-chan," the double doors to the kitchen swung open and the girl in question yelped and the frosting she had been painting onto the side of a cake in lacy roses sprayed over the side of the counter. Akemi watched, nonplussed, as the meek girl nervously scratched the back of her head.

"Err—yes?"

"Have you seen Misa? I told her to come in early today…but I didn't see her come in yet—

Misa snapped the oven shut, running her hands on her apron before spinning around in a spray of sunny hair before she trotted over to the front of the long kitchen.

"Akemi-chan Misa is over here!" She waved her hand, before coming to a halt in front of her rather unhappy looking boss.

"Where have you been?" She snapped.

"Eh—well I …"

Misa didn't have time to say anything else, and Akemi pulled her to the forefront of the store, which had amassed a considerable amount of people since she had last seen it. Misa sighed in exasperation as she began to methodically plow through the crowd of people and their cravings for desserts.

—

_In a medium bowl beat together the egg yolks and 1/3 cup of sugar. Using a _

_wooden spoon stir in mascarpone cheese, beaten egg whites, cream and _

_kirschwasser; stir until smooth. Set aside._

—

Mister Chambord came in some hours later, taking notice of Misa's disheveled—yet still, oddly, every askew hair framed her face perfectly, and her crumpled striped socks pooling around her ankles didn't look in the least unattractive, nor was her wrinkled dress or exhausted look—appearance. While exasperated and altogether drained, the girl looked pleased.

Watari found the catalyst to her significant pride in herself when she showed him the red velvet cake.

If it tasted as good as it looked, L would certainly be quite pleased.

It was a two-tier cake (already, young master L would be infinitely delighted at the fact that it was doubled the size) with cream cheese icing, wrapped up in a silver box and plush, pink ribbon.

"I hope your grandson likes it." She smiled as she handed it over.

The elderly man's eyes were twinkling. "Oh, I'm very sure he will."

With that, Watari paid for L's cake, and tipped his hat to the young lady waving out of the parlor's front door, stepping out into the dreary afternoon.

The rain had come in waves that day, sometimes it was such a torrential downpour that cars would stop altogether, their bright red lights hazy in the misting after splash. Other times the sky seemed to lessen in it's growling, and the clouds would thin enough for beams of light to speckle the city's interior. Watari had luckily caught one of those moments, tucking the package under his arm as he exited the car and stepped into L's latest headquarters.

The hotel ceiling stretched into an oblivion of crystal chandeliers and white walls, its floor an expansion of marble, interior; an Italian Renaissance sculpture garden. The hotel staff were charming, and the cleaning quick and to the point. No doubt the three of these combined were the main reasons L had chosen such a coordinate for his latest roost, that, and its uncanny placing between three of Tokyo's best bakeries.

He found his young charge in the exact place he had last left him.

L had seated himself in the middle of a darkened room, plush stretch chairs and modern glass tables that resembled works of art were pushed against the walls, every available surface that wasn't the floor had a precarious amount of desserts and dirty dishes. The windows, which took up the entire left wall in its floor to ceiling stretch of glass, were swathed in the darkest curtains, to the point that only freckles of light painted the ground near their edges.

The man himself was huddled in his typical position, edges glowing blue in the wan spill of artificial light—actually, the _only _light in the entire room— from his computer. Around him, books were stacked in towers that ended with a fortitude of cupcakes, which he would pluck occasionally, or simply eat altogether when one of the books it was placed upon struck his sudden fancy.

"Ryuuzaki-sama," He knocked on the threshold to the room. "I have brought you another cake."

"That's very kind of you Watari," Answered his charge, around a scoop of rice pudding. "However…I don't recall asking you of one—

"Ah, but this is my treat." With that, he handed the box over to the surprised, but altogether curious detective.

L placed the regal box on another stack of books, between a pie and a plate full of cookies, and made no move to open it. Obviously he was intent on finishing the last of his pudding.

Instead of turning around and beginning to wash the magnanimous amount of used dishes that were making mountains on the kitchen counter and getting ready to oust him from the kitchen, he paused and tilted his head.

"And the case?"

"Finished." L popped another scoopful into his mouth.

"All of them?"

The man shook his head out, the strands coming together to make a cloud-like look. "That would be the assumption, yes."

He wondered if he should bother to inquire if he should purchase plane tickets, as was per usual when L had finished all his cases. However, the genius detective made no move to speak to him, and he decided that it would be best to at least try to make a dent in the amount of cleaning the staff would have to do when they arrived next morning.

By the time L had cleaned off most of his prior sweets and moved to the cake Watari had surprised him with, the hour was well into the morning, as his computer read and the beginnings of light under his black curtains proved.

When he finally did take a bite out of it, he was pleasantly surprised to find it exactly how he wanted it.

He examined the wrapping carefully, the same tedious and careful placing of each fold.

Most definitely where Watari had purchased the sweets from before.

He hummed as he grabbed another forkful.

How intriguing.

—

_Dissolve remaining 2/3 cup sugar in coffee. Quickly, to avoid complete _

_saturation, dip ends of ladyfingers in coffee mixture. Place ladyfingers in a _

_single layer in a 9 x 13 inch glass baking dish. Spread a layer of cheese _

_mixture over the ladyfingers; repeat layers, ending with cheese mixture._

—

"Ah, Misa Misa-chan, hold that pose for a minute—

Seconds passed, before the young model was flocked to by a crowd of makeup artists, clambering about her with plumed brushes and puckered lips, cooing "pucker your lips like this," or "turn your head this way" to which Misa had to careen her head at odd angles and twist her lips until they hurt, scrunching her eyebrows or puffing her cheeks. They did this at timed moments in the shoot, much to the ire of the photographer, who didn't like the distractions.

At the moment, Misa was trying her hardest to be exactly what everybody wanted, which was proving to be a feet indeed as everyone seemed to want opposite things.

The photographer wanted her to arch her back and push her chest up, hands on the sofa. The magazine editor, who looked like quite a character—and not in a good way—had a pinched look on her face and was constantly arguing with the editors behind the computers where Misa's pictures were transferring from the cameras.

At the same time, the wardrobe artist would hop onto the set and fix her many skirts, and move her pose, which would irritate the photographer and then _everyone _would be yelling.

Not that Misa didn't enjoy working for Couture Pink. The brand was a fashion icon and girls everywhere wore their clothing. Misa wasn't particularly drawn to the style—the dresses were all long and ruffled like ball gowns, and drawn out in pastels with bouquets of flowers, with natural tones to the face and matte lips. The only polish she wore—if she wore any at all—was a dusty pink where typically she'd have black, or if she was feeling rather up to it, neon green. The style wasn't as gothic as she'd like, certainly, but the advertisement would be on the back cover of Girls Nineteen.

When it was all over, Misa sighed and slumped tiredly against the back of her dressing room, terribly worn out.

—

—

L had another handful of cases on his hands.

Of course, almost immediately were the first three eliminated. L could have deduced the murderer of Miss Takahashi almost immediately, had he taken the time to actually go over the evidence in one go, rather then spend a minute gazing sightlessly at his screen, before returning to the delicious cake.

Not to say the cake was distracting. Not in the slightest. He always found that the better the taste, the faster he'd work.

However, it was the _mystery _behind the flavor that kept him drawn to it.

L hadn't even had the cake for a full twenty four hours, but he had already devoured the bottom half, and was savoring the top tier with small, thoroughly chewed bites to get the full enhancement of flavor.

But, at any rate, that was neither here nor there.

Out of a total of twelve cases (none of which were even anywhere near his level…or Eraldo Coil's…or Denueve's… in fact, a typical detective fresh into the ranks could possible solve them) only one was remotely anything interesting.

Even then, all he had to do was call Wedy in to plant a couple bugs, and he'd have what he needed.

Speaking of the master of breaking and entering, the woman had left her magazines all over the table in the hotel's living room. While the blonde had never seen him personally, she did stop by occasionally at his headquarters to bother Watari or grab food. Neither of which greatly appealed to him.

With a sigh, he grabbed them from the smooth surface of the wood, and was about to trash them when he spotted the advertisement on the backside of its glossy texture.

He mused that magazines typically beheld the most attractive of women, and this one was obviously no exception.

L noted the bullets reading about an exclusive interview with uprising star Misa Misa-chan, and he supposed anyone calling themselves such an inane nickname certainly lived up to the almost doll like, pastel lips and incarnadine cheeks, would certainly go well together. Whether that was an insult or a compliment, he hadn't yet pondered fully.

Well, he had finished what he had came to Japan for, but was too lazy at the moment to look for more cases, and certainly had time to kill.

So instead of what he should be doing, which was perhaps begrudging himself all the way to bed before shutting his eyes with enough tension to hurt his muscles and sit in bed for minutes after minutes until he finally drowned in nightmares, he perched on the couch and flipped to page thirty-three.

—

Cover and refrigerate for several hours. Sprinkle with cocoa just before serving.

—

:D


End file.
